This afternoon, in the company of M Gayraud, the seller, and Brigitte, my translator, I got the opportunity to view the studio apartment that is for sale on the second floor here at 42rvh.
It was disappointing from every aspect - both the physical structure and the possible negotiation.
The layout and the decoration were just as I had imagined - a small bathroom by the front door, a tiny kitchen tucked in the corner of the living room, a mezzanine floor with restricted headroom and a water heater and 'crepi', the spray-on shite that we spent weeks removing from our own apartments, covering every surface.
But also there were extra supporting girders and pillars that aren't a feature of Denis' or Brigitte's apartments on the same floor. I think it must be right under the main supporting structure for the roof, hence the pillar and the extra iron girders - but what I can't understand is why they didn't make the dividing wall in line with the supporting structures so that they were hidden, instead of the wall and supports being half a metre apart and thus being in the living space. The extra supports seriously affect the useability of the bathroom, kitchen and mezzanine.
In addition to that the price appears to have gone up from the price quoted personally by M.Gayraud to me less than a month ago and is significantly more than the price he quoted to Brigitte - we were both a bit shocked. Clearly, having seen the inside of my apartment at the co=proprietors meeting recently, he thinks I have a lot more money than I do - and even if I did, I wouldn't be paying over the odds for his place anyway. The cheek of the man.
We will see what comes of it, if anything.
Wednesday, 13 August 2008
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
A drama but not a crisis
There is a steep staircase and a very low beam at the top of the staircase in our Studio suite. I always point it out to new arrivals and ask them to take care. Even so we have had the odd slight knock and "I won't do that again" comment, but I guess I always knew that one day someone would really bang their head on it - so it was today.
My new guests arrived yesterday afternoon and seemed very excited and very jolly - if I have to describe them then she is five months pregnant and he is from New Zealand - another first for 42rvh.
When I knocked on their door this morning, with their breakfast tray in hand, I heard the sound of someone jumping out of bed on the mezzanine followed by an almighty thud, a pause, a very large groan, someone running down the stairs, someone trying to open the locked door, another groan, an apology, another pause, then the key in the lock and finally the door opening.
The door was opened by my NZ guest clutching a bloody tissue to his forehead and the words "Mind the blood on the floor"!
Naturally, I asked if he was alright and if there was anything I could do but he insisted he was absolutely fine. Five minutes later she knocked on my door and said that she thought he needed to see a doctor. I don't have a doctor here in France, but I do have a fully qualified nurse living upstairs, which is handy, and Brigitte very kindly came down immediately, when asked, with the biggest home first aid kit I have ever seen - "Je suis une professionelle", she responded when I asked about it.
It was in fact all something and nothing - he felt much better once a 'professional' nurse had cooed over him with an antiseptic swab and a soothing "Ce n'est pas grave". She felt a bit embarrassed for having bothered Brigitte about it - if he didn't have a headache after banging his head he will have done after she given him what for all day for over-acting, and I got on with clearing up the little bit of mess on the tiled floor - at least he had the good grace not to bleed on the carpet, which is to his credit.
Brigitte had previously asked my help with replacing the lock on her 'cave' (cellar) door by playing the role of helpless female when it comes to anything to do with a screwdriver - which I don't believe for one minute. It was a very simple job which took me five minutes, or an hour if you include measuring the existing lock and going to the DIY store to get the new one. No matter because I wanted her to do something for me as well so it was a good quid pro quo.
The studio apartment next to Brigitte's on the floor above is for sale and Debrah and I have been talking about whether we should try to buy it - and we think we should. So it was that I asked Brigitte, as newly elected President of our co-operative and obviously a fluent French speaker to contact the owner to start the process of viewing and negotiation. If we can get him to come down on his price a bit then we might have a deal in the making.
This evening I popped down to a bar in the square, Cité des Aromes, that was staging a 'vernissage' or viewing of a new exhibition of paintings. This being the south of France and heavily influenced by all things Spanish, the paintings were all of bulls and bullfighting. Yannick, Lesa's partner at the estate agents office, bemoaned the lack of naked women in local painting - "just bulls", he said.
Having looked at the paintings, I couldn't have agreed more.
My new guests arrived yesterday afternoon and seemed very excited and very jolly - if I have to describe them then she is five months pregnant and he is from New Zealand - another first for 42rvh.
When I knocked on their door this morning, with their breakfast tray in hand, I heard the sound of someone jumping out of bed on the mezzanine followed by an almighty thud, a pause, a very large groan, someone running down the stairs, someone trying to open the locked door, another groan, an apology, another pause, then the key in the lock and finally the door opening.
The door was opened by my NZ guest clutching a bloody tissue to his forehead and the words "Mind the blood on the floor"!
Naturally, I asked if he was alright and if there was anything I could do but he insisted he was absolutely fine. Five minutes later she knocked on my door and said that she thought he needed to see a doctor. I don't have a doctor here in France, but I do have a fully qualified nurse living upstairs, which is handy, and Brigitte very kindly came down immediately, when asked, with the biggest home first aid kit I have ever seen - "Je suis une professionelle", she responded when I asked about it.
It was in fact all something and nothing - he felt much better once a 'professional' nurse had cooed over him with an antiseptic swab and a soothing "Ce n'est pas grave". She felt a bit embarrassed for having bothered Brigitte about it - if he didn't have a headache after banging his head he will have done after she given him what for all day for over-acting, and I got on with clearing up the little bit of mess on the tiled floor - at least he had the good grace not to bleed on the carpet, which is to his credit.
Brigitte had previously asked my help with replacing the lock on her 'cave' (cellar) door by playing the role of helpless female when it comes to anything to do with a screwdriver - which I don't believe for one minute. It was a very simple job which took me five minutes, or an hour if you include measuring the existing lock and going to the DIY store to get the new one. No matter because I wanted her to do something for me as well so it was a good quid pro quo.
The studio apartment next to Brigitte's on the floor above is for sale and Debrah and I have been talking about whether we should try to buy it - and we think we should. So it was that I asked Brigitte, as newly elected President of our co-operative and obviously a fluent French speaker to contact the owner to start the process of viewing and negotiation. If we can get him to come down on his price a bit then we might have a deal in the making.
This evening I popped down to a bar in the square, Cité des Aromes, that was staging a 'vernissage' or viewing of a new exhibition of paintings. This being the south of France and heavily influenced by all things Spanish, the paintings were all of bulls and bullfighting. Yannick, Lesa's partner at the estate agents office, bemoaned the lack of naked women in local painting - "just bulls", he said.
Having looked at the paintings, I couldn't have agreed more.
Sunday, 10 August 2008
Emotional
Another dinner over, guests have departed back to their rooms in a jolly mood, washing up done apart from a few glasses and everything ready to go for breakfasts in the morning. It all sounds as seamless and sorted as every other dinner but actually it was all a bit problematic today.
It started badly because I forgot to set my alarm last night (first time ever) and woke up at 8.30 when I was supposed to be delivering the first breakfast of the day. It was a bit of a rush but they had it by 8.50 and the other went in at 9.00 as it should have done - I'm not happy with myself, but the guests were happily telling me this evening that breakfast was wonderful so clearly they were OK with it - what a relief.
The problem was caused by Debrah and me having a couple of drinks and working our way through some old songs from a recently opened box of CD's - Blondie, Abba, Madonna, Santana, The Doors - all classics of their day and not heard in these parts for a good while.
After the breakfast rush, I decided to try out my new iron and Debrah retreated back to bed with her book. Sad isn't it, when I'm trying out new household appliances on a Sunday morning - it's a new steam iron - one of those ones attached to a large water reservoir - and I'm hoping it will do the business on the sheets and pillowcases. My life now revolves around this level of domesticity.
So I was 'merrily' ironing and watching a bit of Olympic action on my computer when Debrah emerged from the bedroom in an absolute flood of tears - real proper big crying. It appears that she had got to the end of the book and was overwhelmed by it's sadness, and happiness and that it was a true story. Women and emotions - that's a big mystery to us men. All I could do was put my arms around her and let her cry until she got control again.
Then this evening turned into a little bit of a rush because we were out at lunch for so long. Debrah wasn't feeling very well with a bit of an upset stomach - not caused by lunch, we don't think. She decided that she wouldn't eat with us all but would help with the preparation in the background and then somehow she dropped the tray of fig tarts that she had been so carefully preparing. It wasn't a disaster and it was clearly just an accident but it was the first time we had found ourselves in a potentally panic situation of not having a dessert when guests were just about to arrive for dinner. It wasn't a disaster because there were more figs and there was more pastry and there was time before the dessert was due to prepare more tarts.
In the middle of the day, Denis had insisted on taking us out to lunch - so off we went to Domaine Gayda. At this point Debrah was feeling OK and the sun was shining and the view from the terrace looking out to the Pyrenees was absolutely breathtakingly fantastic - the food was delicious and the wine was a sumptuous 'la liviniere' and the company was just grand. A finer Sunday lunch one couldn't have hoped for. We just didn't need to be doing that before a guest dinner in the evening because it was too much and they both ended up detracting from each other, which was a shame because both were excellent in their own right.
So a day of learning really - remember to set the alarm, lunch and dinner on the same day is a bit much and look out for those emotions because you don't know when or how they are going to strike!
It started badly because I forgot to set my alarm last night (first time ever) and woke up at 8.30 when I was supposed to be delivering the first breakfast of the day. It was a bit of a rush but they had it by 8.50 and the other went in at 9.00 as it should have done - I'm not happy with myself, but the guests were happily telling me this evening that breakfast was wonderful so clearly they were OK with it - what a relief.
The problem was caused by Debrah and me having a couple of drinks and working our way through some old songs from a recently opened box of CD's - Blondie, Abba, Madonna, Santana, The Doors - all classics of their day and not heard in these parts for a good while.
After the breakfast rush, I decided to try out my new iron and Debrah retreated back to bed with her book. Sad isn't it, when I'm trying out new household appliances on a Sunday morning - it's a new steam iron - one of those ones attached to a large water reservoir - and I'm hoping it will do the business on the sheets and pillowcases. My life now revolves around this level of domesticity.
So I was 'merrily' ironing and watching a bit of Olympic action on my computer when Debrah emerged from the bedroom in an absolute flood of tears - real proper big crying. It appears that she had got to the end of the book and was overwhelmed by it's sadness, and happiness and that it was a true story. Women and emotions - that's a big mystery to us men. All I could do was put my arms around her and let her cry until she got control again.
Then this evening turned into a little bit of a rush because we were out at lunch for so long. Debrah wasn't feeling very well with a bit of an upset stomach - not caused by lunch, we don't think. She decided that she wouldn't eat with us all but would help with the preparation in the background and then somehow she dropped the tray of fig tarts that she had been so carefully preparing. It wasn't a disaster and it was clearly just an accident but it was the first time we had found ourselves in a potentally panic situation of not having a dessert when guests were just about to arrive for dinner. It wasn't a disaster because there were more figs and there was more pastry and there was time before the dessert was due to prepare more tarts.
In the middle of the day, Denis had insisted on taking us out to lunch - so off we went to Domaine Gayda. At this point Debrah was feeling OK and the sun was shining and the view from the terrace looking out to the Pyrenees was absolutely breathtakingly fantastic - the food was delicious and the wine was a sumptuous 'la liviniere' and the company was just grand. A finer Sunday lunch one couldn't have hoped for. We just didn't need to be doing that before a guest dinner in the evening because it was too much and they both ended up detracting from each other, which was a shame because both were excellent in their own right.
So a day of learning really - remember to set the alarm, lunch and dinner on the same day is a bit much and look out for those emotions because you don't know when or how they are going to strike!
Friday, 8 August 2008
Comings and Goings
Debrah arrived on Wednesday, two days earlier than planned - hurrah. The project she was scheduled to work on, in London, was postponed, so she dived through the window of opportunity that presented itself, before anyone could close it.
She was shocked by the 15 degree temperature change either side of an hour and a half flight. Although I had warned her how hot it was here, she was still taken aback as she stepped onto the tarmac at Carcassonne airport - so no, I wasn't exaggerating.
Thankfully, the air temperature has dropped off to a more respectable level and we can all get on with jobs without sweating on everything.
The boys from Valencia left yesterday and my new guests from Grimsby (twinned with Valencia?, probably not) arrived this morning. The good thing is that wherever they come from, they all seem genuinely happy to be here - which is of course just fabulous from my perspective.
After Debrah had spent all day yesterday doing 'real work' avoidance (going to the market, arranging flowers, cooking lunch etc) we did a bit of real work on updating our website, before going out for a quiet supper at La Roulotte. We send loads of our guests to this restaurant but don't get to go there ourselves very often so it made for a nice change.
It ended as a not so quiet night because Denis was also eating there and so we got together and came back for a nightcap and we both felt a little jaded this morning as a result.
It didn't stop me delivering breakfast on time and it didn't stop Denis getting hold of my scaffolding and cleaning the archway roof, which was full of cobwebs and general dirt - looks fabulous now that it is clean and probably doesn't need the coat of paint that we thought it might. Good to see everyone chipping in with a bit of work on the building too.
She was shocked by the 15 degree temperature change either side of an hour and a half flight. Although I had warned her how hot it was here, she was still taken aback as she stepped onto the tarmac at Carcassonne airport - so no, I wasn't exaggerating.
Thankfully, the air temperature has dropped off to a more respectable level and we can all get on with jobs without sweating on everything.
The boys from Valencia left yesterday and my new guests from Grimsby (twinned with Valencia?, probably not) arrived this morning. The good thing is that wherever they come from, they all seem genuinely happy to be here - which is of course just fabulous from my perspective.
After Debrah had spent all day yesterday doing 'real work' avoidance (going to the market, arranging flowers, cooking lunch etc) we did a bit of real work on updating our website, before going out for a quiet supper at La Roulotte. We send loads of our guests to this restaurant but don't get to go there ourselves very often so it made for a nice change.
It ended as a not so quiet night because Denis was also eating there and so we got together and came back for a nightcap and we both felt a little jaded this morning as a result.
It didn't stop me delivering breakfast on time and it didn't stop Denis getting hold of my scaffolding and cleaning the archway roof, which was full of cobwebs and general dirt - looks fabulous now that it is clean and probably doesn't need the coat of paint that we thought it might. Good to see everyone chipping in with a bit of work on the building too.
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
The heat is on
If it was hot yesterday, then I am not sure how to describe today's heat. I spent the morning doing jobs in the appartment - it was a bit sweaty and uncomfortable but bearable. When I finally stepped outside after lunch I was hit by a wall of air at least 10 degrees hotter than inside - makes me realise how well these old stone houses insulate against the summer sun.
If you were in direct sunlight and stopped moving for 30 seconds you would suddenly say "Ow" as the sun started to burn. The breeze was of little relief as you could feel the heat of the air moving across you - at least it masked the burning feeling. The temperature guage outside the pharmacy in the square is known for being a few degrees optimistic with it's assessment - this afternoon it was showing 42 degrees - optimistic or not, that's hot.
I collected new guests from the airport this afternoon. Plenty of people were getting off the London flight in sweaters and jackets - which shows what the weather was like in London. There were a few people were finding the temperature here a bit of a shock.
Nobody's temperature was helped by the baggage conveyor belt breaking down. Everyone was inside the arrivals hall, having passed through customs, but all the bags were on the other side of the windows because the conveyor belt wouldn't work. They wouldn't let people back past customs to manually pick up their bags and tempers started to fray.
Eventually, in a truly comedic French method, the baggage handlers just manually pushed the bags through the hole in the wall for people to claim them one at a time on the other side, thus satisfying all demarcation and customs rules. Jacques Tati would not have been out of place.
There are only six flights a day in summer into Carcassonne airport and the ground staff have to be waken from their slumbers each time a flight comes in. You'd think the least they could do was check that everything was operational during the vacant hours between bouts of real work - and to think they went on strike recently because they weren't paid enough for sleeping all day.
Maybe I am being unkind - perhaps it was just the heat affecting the internal workings of the machines. I overheard someone saying that the car park ticket machines weren't operating either so how were they going to get out of the car park? - I turned to look at the exit barriers and sure enough they were lifted in the permanently open position - no car parking revenue today either at the airport then. Not a good day to be airport general manager.
My new guests were just glad to be out of the UK and driving about in the sunshine in an open top car. The younger of the two teaches mediaeval history and was all for running up to La Cité the minute she arrived - that's known as 'being a bit London'. It's been there for a thousand years - it will still be there tomorrow - take your time - after all you are here for ten days.
The heat will slow her down.
Suddenly at seven o'clock the sky went black and the thunder thundered and the lightning flashed and enormous great big fat raindrops started falling one at a time and then a few more and then all together in a massive thunderstorm. It felt good. It smelled of hot wet sunny stone and earth. It instantly cooled everything - but only for a moment.
The sweat is still dripping from my arms as I type this - not a pleasant thought I know, but the reality.
Personally I'm OK with it. I have spent so many years in dull, cold grey English weather conditions that a few days of extra-ordinarily hot weather is not going to start me complaining about it - comment on it, yes - but complain, no.
Some like it hot.
If you were in direct sunlight and stopped moving for 30 seconds you would suddenly say "Ow" as the sun started to burn. The breeze was of little relief as you could feel the heat of the air moving across you - at least it masked the burning feeling. The temperature guage outside the pharmacy in the square is known for being a few degrees optimistic with it's assessment - this afternoon it was showing 42 degrees - optimistic or not, that's hot.
I collected new guests from the airport this afternoon. Plenty of people were getting off the London flight in sweaters and jackets - which shows what the weather was like in London. There were a few people were finding the temperature here a bit of a shock.
Nobody's temperature was helped by the baggage conveyor belt breaking down. Everyone was inside the arrivals hall, having passed through customs, but all the bags were on the other side of the windows because the conveyor belt wouldn't work. They wouldn't let people back past customs to manually pick up their bags and tempers started to fray.
Eventually, in a truly comedic French method, the baggage handlers just manually pushed the bags through the hole in the wall for people to claim them one at a time on the other side, thus satisfying all demarcation and customs rules. Jacques Tati would not have been out of place.
There are only six flights a day in summer into Carcassonne airport and the ground staff have to be waken from their slumbers each time a flight comes in. You'd think the least they could do was check that everything was operational during the vacant hours between bouts of real work - and to think they went on strike recently because they weren't paid enough for sleeping all day.
Maybe I am being unkind - perhaps it was just the heat affecting the internal workings of the machines. I overheard someone saying that the car park ticket machines weren't operating either so how were they going to get out of the car park? - I turned to look at the exit barriers and sure enough they were lifted in the permanently open position - no car parking revenue today either at the airport then. Not a good day to be airport general manager.
My new guests were just glad to be out of the UK and driving about in the sunshine in an open top car. The younger of the two teaches mediaeval history and was all for running up to La Cité the minute she arrived - that's known as 'being a bit London'. It's been there for a thousand years - it will still be there tomorrow - take your time - after all you are here for ten days.
The heat will slow her down.
Suddenly at seven o'clock the sky went black and the thunder thundered and the lightning flashed and enormous great big fat raindrops started falling one at a time and then a few more and then all together in a massive thunderstorm. It felt good. It smelled of hot wet sunny stone and earth. It instantly cooled everything - but only for a moment.
The sweat is still dripping from my arms as I type this - not a pleasant thought I know, but the reality.
Personally I'm OK with it. I have spent so many years in dull, cold grey English weather conditions that a few days of extra-ordinarily hot weather is not going to start me complaining about it - comment on it, yes - but complain, no.
Some like it hot.
Monday, 4 August 2008
Too hot to handle
It's officially quiet in Carcassonne - virtually everyone French has gone to park on an autoroute heading for the beach.
It's also officially damn hot and many an example of a burnt Englishman has been seen trudging around - when will we ever learn about sitting in the Mediterranean sun?
I am very pleased that my English guests, who have been here for a week, don't seem to have had any ill effects from spending each of the last two days out on the bikes all day - the beauty of the canal towpath is that it is both flat and shaded for most of the time. There might be some aching muscles by tomorrow though as they readily admitted they hadn't done much cycling recently!
Sadly they are off in the morning and when I popped in this evening, to check if they needed anything, they were in the middle of packing, which for some reason made me feel rather sad that they were going. I hope to see Phil and Margaret again, but who knows in this business.
It is so hot that I am down to wearing one piece of clothing during the day whilst at home working on my own - in case you haven't worked it out I am referring to my shorts. Of course when I go out or when guests ring the doorbell I will rapidly find my shirt - there are standards to maintain after all.
My first Spanish guests arrived this evening for a three night stay - and a lovely couple of boys they are too. They are following, or rather just beginning, a pattern that is emerging of my first non-english speaking national guests being a touch gay. Pieter and Nico were my first Belgian guests back in April - lovely collection of pastel sweaters.
It was a strange week last week. I was dreadfully distracted by completely losing my temper. Maybe I over-reacted but it didn't do me any good and now that the anger has subsided I can look back at it with a more reasoned thought process. What is clear is that losing one's temper doesn't solve a problem but just makes it worse - that's easy to say now because for three days all I could do was pace about muttering to myself in a slightly deranged way and all through the night too ( I couldn't sleep) - it stopped me getting on with running this place to the point where I was no longer in control but catching up and just getting things done all the time - I think the guests didn't have a clue but internally I was a mess for five days.
You'd think that at my age you would learn to deal with unexpected events and setbacks and take them in your stride - if only that were the case. Anyway - all seems sorted out now, although it isn't because there is a profound sense of being let down on my side and I suspect there are feelings elsewhere being equally masked. Just when you think it's all going well..!
It hasn't helped that Debrah wasn't here for the last week because her presence may have helped to calm me down - it's always the same, the longer we spend together 24 hours a day, the harder it is for us to be apart the immediate following week - so it has proved to be this week. I have felt a bit lonely without Debrah this week and we really need to find a solution to our disparate lives
So it was I found myself going through an old box of CD's that hasn't seen the light of day for several years and spending an afternoon at the ironing board listening and dancing to the clubtastic sounds of Faithless and the mellower but wierder Orb - brought back lots of happy memories, which is a good thing.
We like good things.
It's also officially damn hot and many an example of a burnt Englishman has been seen trudging around - when will we ever learn about sitting in the Mediterranean sun?
I am very pleased that my English guests, who have been here for a week, don't seem to have had any ill effects from spending each of the last two days out on the bikes all day - the beauty of the canal towpath is that it is both flat and shaded for most of the time. There might be some aching muscles by tomorrow though as they readily admitted they hadn't done much cycling recently!
Sadly they are off in the morning and when I popped in this evening, to check if they needed anything, they were in the middle of packing, which for some reason made me feel rather sad that they were going. I hope to see Phil and Margaret again, but who knows in this business.
It is so hot that I am down to wearing one piece of clothing during the day whilst at home working on my own - in case you haven't worked it out I am referring to my shorts. Of course when I go out or when guests ring the doorbell I will rapidly find my shirt - there are standards to maintain after all.
My first Spanish guests arrived this evening for a three night stay - and a lovely couple of boys they are too. They are following, or rather just beginning, a pattern that is emerging of my first non-english speaking national guests being a touch gay. Pieter and Nico were my first Belgian guests back in April - lovely collection of pastel sweaters.
It was a strange week last week. I was dreadfully distracted by completely losing my temper. Maybe I over-reacted but it didn't do me any good and now that the anger has subsided I can look back at it with a more reasoned thought process. What is clear is that losing one's temper doesn't solve a problem but just makes it worse - that's easy to say now because for three days all I could do was pace about muttering to myself in a slightly deranged way and all through the night too ( I couldn't sleep) - it stopped me getting on with running this place to the point where I was no longer in control but catching up and just getting things done all the time - I think the guests didn't have a clue but internally I was a mess for five days.
You'd think that at my age you would learn to deal with unexpected events and setbacks and take them in your stride - if only that were the case. Anyway - all seems sorted out now, although it isn't because there is a profound sense of being let down on my side and I suspect there are feelings elsewhere being equally masked. Just when you think it's all going well..!
It hasn't helped that Debrah wasn't here for the last week because her presence may have helped to calm me down - it's always the same, the longer we spend together 24 hours a day, the harder it is for us to be apart the immediate following week - so it has proved to be this week. I have felt a bit lonely without Debrah this week and we really need to find a solution to our disparate lives
So it was I found myself going through an old box of CD's that hasn't seen the light of day for several years and spending an afternoon at the ironing board listening and dancing to the clubtastic sounds of Faithless and the mellower but wierder Orb - brought back lots of happy memories, which is a good thing.
We like good things.
Friday, 1 August 2008
Holidays and Firemen
The first weekend in August is upon us and pretty much every French person I know is under starters orders for the mass exodus. It is French holiday time and heaven help anyone who strays onto an autoroute tomorrow in the belief that driving in France is a doddle - for 95% of the year it is, but tomorrow is officially a red day on the roads as everyone dashes for their nearest bit of coastline.
I do wonder how France functions during August (obviously I could have stopped that sentence after the word functions!). Three of my four French neighbours are on holiday from this weekend - so 75% of my immediate sample group - and I haven't spoken to the fourth so am not sure about him. If 75% of every business and government office goes away on holiday then not much is going to get done, is it? I guess the police and the firemen will be the only ones stretched as they pick through the inevitable carnage on the autoroutes.
In fact people are still talking about the 'pompiers' turning up here the other day. I forgot to mention it yesterday but it has been raised in conversation by passing neighbours three times today. In fact they raised the subject in almost reverential tones - 'C'est vrai, les pompiers arrivent' - yes well they did arrive to do a fairly mundane job, so what's the big deal?
We, the proprietors of 42rvh, had noticed that a pair of shutters on the second floor were broken and swinging a bit dangerously in the wind. Now these shutters are pretty solid wooden affairs and any bit falling off could have done some serious damage to any passing car or fatal consequences to a passing pedestrian. As such, we had urged Madame La Presidente of our newly independent self-governing society (i.e. Brigitte) to write to the owner and ask them to sort it out - which to his credit he did immediately.
He got someone round to have a look from the inside and they declined the job and when he tried to get someone to sort it from the outside it appears that the only people qualified and with the right equipment, so to speak, were the fire brigade.
Sadly, I was in the middle of a very tortuous conversation with France Telecom whilst all the drama unfolded but I did at least manage a quick look out of my window to see what was going on. An enormous fire truck with a big extendable hoist was parked outside and two firemen complete with immaculately polished silver helmets were atop said hoist and wrestling with the shutters in question. They received a round of applause (pur-lease!) for taking the shutters off their fixings and lowering them down to the ground without dropping them and it seems that everyone is still talking about it.
Why were the firemen here this morning?
Did you see the firemen outside your building?
Weren't the firemen wonderful?
I guess that I forget that this is a small town and little local incidents like that provide the daily chit-chat that keeps everyone talking to each other. Maybe there is still a lot of London in me yet - as far as I could see no-one was in danger and it wasn't a particularly difficult or dangerous job, when you turn up with the best and most appropriate equipment on offer in France, so what was the big deal?
Perhaps I would have taken more interest without the speed talking helpline assistant shrieking in my ear.
Just in case anyone thinks I'm having a go at the firemen (heaven forbid - they can only do what they are asked to do) - I will say that they did the job with utmost professionalism as I am sure they do at all times.
Vive les pompiers
I do wonder how France functions during August (obviously I could have stopped that sentence after the word functions!). Three of my four French neighbours are on holiday from this weekend - so 75% of my immediate sample group - and I haven't spoken to the fourth so am not sure about him. If 75% of every business and government office goes away on holiday then not much is going to get done, is it? I guess the police and the firemen will be the only ones stretched as they pick through the inevitable carnage on the autoroutes.
In fact people are still talking about the 'pompiers' turning up here the other day. I forgot to mention it yesterday but it has been raised in conversation by passing neighbours three times today. In fact they raised the subject in almost reverential tones - 'C'est vrai, les pompiers arrivent' - yes well they did arrive to do a fairly mundane job, so what's the big deal?
We, the proprietors of 42rvh, had noticed that a pair of shutters on the second floor were broken and swinging a bit dangerously in the wind. Now these shutters are pretty solid wooden affairs and any bit falling off could have done some serious damage to any passing car or fatal consequences to a passing pedestrian. As such, we had urged Madame La Presidente of our newly independent self-governing society (i.e. Brigitte) to write to the owner and ask them to sort it out - which to his credit he did immediately.
He got someone round to have a look from the inside and they declined the job and when he tried to get someone to sort it from the outside it appears that the only people qualified and with the right equipment, so to speak, were the fire brigade.
Sadly, I was in the middle of a very tortuous conversation with France Telecom whilst all the drama unfolded but I did at least manage a quick look out of my window to see what was going on. An enormous fire truck with a big extendable hoist was parked outside and two firemen complete with immaculately polished silver helmets were atop said hoist and wrestling with the shutters in question. They received a round of applause (pur-lease!) for taking the shutters off their fixings and lowering them down to the ground without dropping them and it seems that everyone is still talking about it.
Why were the firemen here this morning?
Did you see the firemen outside your building?
Weren't the firemen wonderful?
I guess that I forget that this is a small town and little local incidents like that provide the daily chit-chat that keeps everyone talking to each other. Maybe there is still a lot of London in me yet - as far as I could see no-one was in danger and it wasn't a particularly difficult or dangerous job, when you turn up with the best and most appropriate equipment on offer in France, so what was the big deal?
Perhaps I would have taken more interest without the speed talking helpline assistant shrieking in my ear.
Just in case anyone thinks I'm having a go at the firemen (heaven forbid - they can only do what they are asked to do) - I will say that they did the job with utmost professionalism as I am sure they do at all times.
Vive les pompiers
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